Not Playing Games
by Flagg1991
Summary: Lynn will do anything to win against her little brother. Christmas present for AberrantScript. Oneshot.


Lincoln rolled the dice and dropped them onto the table, and Lynn did the same, shaking her hand and grimacing in determination, "Come on," she urged like a gambling addict, "mama needs a new pair of cleats."

She let fly, and the dice danced end over end across the table. She leaned excitedly over to see what number she rolled, then sagged. "Ha," Lincoln said, "I win." He picked up one of his pieces and used it to knock one of hers off the board. "Fuck outta Brazil, bitch."

They were sitting at the kitchen table on a blustery early January evening. Snow-spackled darkness pressed against the window and the droning of the TV drifted in from the living room. The name of tonight's game was _Risk. _The board was a map of the world sub-divided into bite-sized territories and the point was to take them all over, Hitler-style. They had been locked in a fierce battle over Brazil, with Lynn's forces coming across the Atlantic from Africa and Lincoln defending. They had each lost most of their armies - represented by colored pieces of plastic -and were barely able to fight on any other fronts. Lincoln, being the strategy geek he was, had dominated from the opening salvo, taking most of North and South America and all of Australia in the first six turns. Taking Brazil was Lynn's last hope to cuck him out of holding both Americas and getting extra guys on each subsequent turn.

Now the war was lost and all her men had died in vain.

She was losing, in other words. Their very first game of 2020...and she was losing.

That wouldn't do.

_I know, _she thought, _I'll cheat_.

She tilted to one side as if to see something around Lincoln, and widened her eyes. "Whoa," she said.

Doofus took the bait and twisted around in his seat. "What?"

While he wasn't looking, Lynn grabbed a handful of pieces and hurriedly added them to her existing armies, concentrating most of them in Siam. She'd sweep down into Australia, take it, and start collecting extra men. Heh. Dumb Lincoln.

He turned back around and fixed her with a baleful glare. "You're not cheating, are you?"

"Uh...no," she said.

He scanned the board and frowned. "I don't know," he said, "something doesn't look right."

Lynn flashed a big, nervous smile. "Looks the same to me, you're just imagining things."

For a second he glared at her, then he scooped up the dice. "From Brazil to Africa," he said.

They both rolled, and thankfully Lynn scored higher, repelling his invasion. "Ha, nice try, Stincoln. Maybe next time you'll learn not to mess with Lynn Loud Jr."

"Lynn...I command 90 percent of the board, shut up."

Lynn's forehead crinkled. It was totally true, he was waaaay ahead of her, but that did _not _give him the right to rub it in her face...or talk about it...or acknowledge it. "That's because you're cheating somehow."

He uttered a harsh, humorless laugh. "Me?"

Lynn craned to one side and peered beneath the table. "What'cha got under there, Linc? Extra pieces?"

She knew he didn't, but if you're going to project, you might as well go all out and do it right. Anything to rattle him and throw him off his game.

"No, I got victory down here," he said cockily, "and I'm about to put it right here." He patted the middle of the board, making the pieces shake in place.

That made Lynn laugh. "Oh, you're full of yourself tonight."

"And you're full of shit," Lincoln said, "you put a bunch of your pieces back."

Uh-oh.

Better lie.

"No," Lynn said, "you're just seeing things."

Lincoln raised his brows and Lynn chafed under his scrutinizing gaze. She was competitive, quick, and agile, but she wasn't good at lying. Telling lies, sure, but not standing up to tough examination. "Just roll again," she snapped.

Shaking his head, Lincoln rolled the dice.

He won.

Again.

Lynn sighed.

She managed to keep him from taking Africa, but the battle in Australia turned into a bloodbath, with her as the losing party. She wasn't very imaginative, but she could picture the fight clearly in her head: Two armies meeting in the dusty Outback, armored columns, tanks, infantry, fire, thunder, and smoke pouring into the dusty blue sky like a fevered lament to a cold and uncaring god. At the end of it, twisted and flaming wreckage dotted the hardpan and blasted bodies were scattered among the scrub like the after effects of a giant child's tantrum. Lynn and her surviving underlings fled across the desert, and the man in black followed. Lincoln, looking a lot like Darth Vader only without the helmet, stood at the turret of a pursuing tank and cackle maniacally.

Things were looking grim for her.

Better cheat some more.

"What's that behind you?" she asked.

Lincoln pursed his lips. "Nothing. Nothing's behind me."

Hm.

This wasn't going to be easy.

"Yes there is. It has a hockey mask on and it's seven feet tall."

Lincoln paled. Jason Voorhees, the undead killer from the Friday the 13th movies, scared the bejesus out of him. He wouldn't admit to it because he wanted to look like a big man, but Lynn knew all about it from Lucy, with whom he watched them all one day. He spent the whole time cowering behind a pillow. Heh.

"Shut up," he said.

Lynn tilted her head back as though she were looking at something behind him. "Dude, put down that bloody machete."

Lincoln tensed.

"Leave Lincoln alone."

For a moment Lincoln trembled, on the verge of cracking, and Lynn coiled, ready to strike. He broke and turned, and Lynn grabbed another piece, clacking it down on the board just as Lincoln returned his attention to her. "You're cheating."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yes you are. That's not even your piece."

Lynn looked down at the board. The piece she grabbed was red. Lincoln's. Uhhh...time to lie. "Huh, how did that get there?"

Lincoln leaned over the table, grabbed it, and tossed it over his shoulder. "Just admit it, I'm beating you fair and square."

"No you aren't."

He picked up the dice.

Over the next ten minutes, Lincoln chased her army all the way into China, picking at it until she had one piece left. The terrors of losing were upon her, and the walls were beginning to close in. She had to take drastic measures.

Like making him surrender before he beat her. That way she could save a little face.

Sitting back, she bent her leg, peeled her sock off, and kicked her bare foot onto the table. The smell of sweat filled the kitchen like poison gas, and Lincoln's face crinkled. Her soles were cracked and blistered from being constantly pounded against the ground during football games and practice, and a dingy Band-Aid was wrapped around one pinkie toe. Corns, bunions, and calluses abounded. Her nails, long and overgrown, were yellowed and splintered. She wiggled her toes and Lincoln grimaced. "Will you put that thing away?" he asked.

"I'm just letting it breathe, bro."

She scooted down in her chair and aimed it at him. "How about a deep tissue massage?"

"How about get your foot off the table so we can finish the game?"

She slouched even more, her butt perched precariously on the edge of the seat. Her foot was bare inches from Lincoln's face. "Get that out of my face," he said tightly.

LOL.

She went to swipe her big toe across his lips, but cried out when he punched her foot as hard as he could. Her butt slipped and she started to fall. Her heart shot into her throat and she threw her arms out in a futile attempt to save herself, but she was already hitting the floor, head clonking, back arching.

"Get rekt," Lincoln said.

Oooh, that son of a bitch.

"You're done, buddy," she said. She used the table to stand, and inadvertently hit the board, scattering pieces everywhere.

"The game!" Lincoln cried.

"This isn't a game, white hair," Lynn hissed. She snatched him up by the front of his shirt and dragged his face to hers. She balled her fist and cocked it, and Lincoln winced. A strange and singular compulsion came over her, unbidden, and surprising herself, she molded her lips to his, pried his mouth open with her tongue, and kissed him deeply.

Lincoln's eyes widened in alarm, and he shoved her back. It was just as well, she was done anyway. She'd kissed two boys in her life and both times she liked it.

Not this time.

It was like kissing her Dad or something.

"Your mouth tastes like ass," she said.

Lincoln spat onto the floor. "Yeah, cuz one just kissed me!"

"How did...oh."

He just called her an ass.

She snatched him again and raised her fist, but before she could pummel the little creep (can you believe he kissed me? His own sister! What a perv!), Mom came in, and Lynn unhanded him.

"Later," she whispered and jabbed her finger at Lincoln.

Later never came, though, because she completely forgot she was supposed to be mad at him.

The next day, she sprang over the back of the couch and landed next to Lincoln with a bounce. He was playing _Steal That Car 35_: Cop cars choked a city street and Lincoln's avatar pelted passing pedestrians with gunfire from an AK-47. Lynn picked up the second controller and waited for him to die. "Multiplayer deathmatch?"

"Sure," Lincoln said.

Wouldn't you know it, he won.

Hm.

Guess it's time to start cheating.

Dropping the controller, she yanked her shorts down just enough to reveal her furry sex. "Yo, Linc, check it out," she said.

He turned his head.

"My junk."

He whipped his head away and jumped to his feet. "Goddamn it, Lynn," he shouted. He threw the controller on the floor and stormed off. "Smells like fish," he grumbled.

"Smells like victory," she amended.

Two days later, she, Polly Pain, Lincoln, and Margo were playing basketball in the driveway. Lincoln, through some freak accident, was winning. He had just one more goal to go before he beat Lynn. Uh-uh. Can't have that. She nudged Margo. "Watch this."

Just as Lincoln was setting up for his shot, she called his name and yanked her jersey down, baring one tiny boob. "My breast.'

Lincoln's face turned red, and without warning, he chucked the ball at her. It crashed into her chest and knocked her back onto her butt with a breathless oof. "I'm done playing with your ass, freaking hillbilly incest lover."

Margo and Polly helped her back to her feet. "Fine, sore ass loser," she called.

Their spat was forgotten, and the following week, they sat down for a game of checkers. Lynn lost, and even though she wanted to resort to cheating, she held back. She guessed maybe it _was _kind of messed up to show your brother your body like that, but fuck it. If he liked it, he was a pervert.

But it was nice to know she had a trump card whenever she needed it. It really came in handy over the years. Like that time they were playing Monopoly in her room. He was beating her, and she got up like she was going to go to the bathroom but mooned him instead. That night he broke and did something back. Lynn wiggled her hips tauntingly, then gasped when something hard, hot, and thick speared into her. Stinging pain filled her skull and her pelvic muscles strained so hard she thought she was going to split in half. She held onto the edge of her nightstand and gritted her teeth against the pain. Lincoln gripped her hips and rutted furiously, not stopping until his rich, scalding cream filled her.

"There," he panted, "maybe you'll stop now."

"You fuck like a girl," she said and yanked her shorts up. She was sore, shaky, and gushing his seed, but she couldn't let him know he almost made her cry his name.

"You would know. Dyke."

The next time he was beating her at cards, she pushed him back on her bed, straddled him, and rode his dick until he gave her every last drop. Later, playing video games, he ate her pussy to break her concentration, and she returned the favor, sucking him so good he wound up losing.

A lot of people might call what they were doing wrong, but, hey, Lynn was competitive. She had a saying: Anything to win...

...Even if it means eventually falling in love with your brother and bearing his children.


End file.
